The moment Genny tried to press anything into his mind would be like trying to swim up a waterfall that only increased with intensity the harder she pushed. There was no visible strain for the effect beyond a downturn of his lips. "Whatever you're trying to do, stop it." He didn't seem particularly appreciative of her action, his posture becoming as equally closed off as his personality and presence with those few words. The hand on Kacela was steady against her neck, something warding her from jumping up to try hunting anyone just at the moment. Not that he could do much to keep her from doing whatever she wanted when she wanted.

After a short time of uncomfortable silence Kals shifts in his chair and lets out a long breath. "Unless you were the one responsible, there's no point in apologizing." He's quiet, considering something as his eyes turn to the fire then back to the woman. "Look..." Another shift of his body, as if finding a comfortable way to sit has suddenly become an impossible task. "I can at least tell you that she was herself at the end. Her real self, not the porcelain nightmare she turned into."

Very little to offer, but possibly the most she's ever heard about what exactly transpired that night. The expression on his face is hard to read, impossible to judge just how he feels know that fact, or sharing it. "It's something for all the effort you've made, and my offer to convince you to not try what you did again."

It had been a stream of thoughts, of feeling, of memory; love of the woman that had been her mentor. Upon the pounding current of his defense, against which the memories flowed, they curled, broke, and dissipated as vapor. There was no push, no force behind the mental transmission and the strain, if even she felt it, was not what stopped her. It was his frown.

Her own lips turned down and her expression shifted to curiosity while the mist of memory vanished. It was as if she took a great, deep breath and sucked away every bit of the feeling that she had shared. If this were his only exposure, at the very least he might see how dexterously she wielded whatever mental abilities they had in common. She possessed control, if not the best understanding of interpersonal relationships and boundaries.

There was a slight recoil and stiffness to her posture, thankful in no small measure that he held Kacela at bay. Either she was made equally uncomfortable by her assumptions or simply couldn’t help but mirror him as she too shifted before bowing her head apologetically.

As he spoke she nodded lamely, her hands turning over in her lap.

‘Unless you were the one responsible…’

As if she saw blood on them her fists reflexively balled before being pulled into and folded across her chest until he finished speaking.

“My apologies, all the same,” for the trespass, for his sister, for all of it. Despite being succinct, her words were earnest and carried with them a gravity of understanding. There were very few people who could stomach such transactions without a level of trust that clearly exceeded what Genny and Kals presently shared.

Several awkward moments passed, her mind so still and silent now that it was obviously intentionally restrained, fortified behind some self-imposed barrier.

“Agniezska, Ariane, and I… we plotted to kill her,” her eyes slowly rose to meet his as the admission was choked out. “Many people were hurt… because I delayed so long, trying to find a way to bring her back.”

Her cheeks burned red and tears threatened the edge of her vision. But even now they didn’t spill. Control won out.

He had sounded a touch like a chastising parent before, with the curt demeanor a clipped words behind the harsher insistence. Kals didn't really know what to make of the fact Genny could do what she was doing, he didn't remember her having that talent once. And as far as he could tell despite the fact she knew how to use it, she didn't seem to understand how to 'use' it. That was almost as troubling as anything else.

Kacela was unlikely to try and kill anyone as far as he was expecting, but the play at having control over her generally made people feel better whenever the wild woman was being aggressive. And since it seemed to manage a slight touch of the tension in the room he kept up the facade. Not as much trust as maybe Genny would like, but he grunted at her apology all the same as he settled back into his chair.

There wasn't even a change in that new posture when she admitted to her plots with the other, just a long stare of unnaturally colored eyes. "So did I, but more I plotted a good way to kill Glenn. I still do sometimes." Cold words, and brutally honest. He wouldn't show signs of crying the way she did, but he wasn't proud of his own admittance. "I think just about everyone in town had planned it near the end... I'm glad that you at least tried to help her find herself before trying to do more."

He had indeed sounded like a chastising parent and probably with good reason despite that they were both adults. He had gone out to the woods to retrieve a lost woman, whom he found yelling at the sky and probably directly into his brains, cursing his name. Only to bring her into his home, have her intrude on his personal space, and apologize while she continually fumbled attempts at communicating.

All things considered, she was far more child-like given the circumstances. In comparison her ‘talent’ while similar in some respects and precise, lacked decorum and any sense of formal training. He wasn’t wrong, she hadn’t always had the capacity for such telepathic communication but that was many years ago now. And as for using it, well, there weren’t many in Myrken Wood, let alone the township proper, who took kindly to mind-witchery.

At the mention of Glenn her eyes cleared and the line of her lips tightened. A slight frown formed, but then again, Kals had his reasons for disliking, hating, Glenn.

“True." She paused, considering those words, perhaps realizing they weren't the comfort she sought, "still, I often wonder. Dread to think I was successful and simply cannot remember.”

There was an air of haunted disbelief in her words. Not in the admission which came bluntly now, but in the fact that after all this time and all her efforts she couldn’t remember those few hours. How could you forget killing someone?

"Does it really matter if you do it? What would it change, and does that mean you really want to know?" Kals ran his fingers absently through the scruff of hair at the back of the wolf's neck. "I think we're better off all letting sleeping dogs lie... it won't help anything to learn the truth. It will just hurt someone or something."

The lack of appreciation in Myrkenwood for what he could do with his mind, and his sister's antics, are what drove him to live so far in the woods despite the danger. He didn't have to be guarded with his mind out here, or worry about any accidents that would give someone the excuse to seeks revenge on him for something his sister had done. That didn't mean he minded the visit or the company, Genny just had a very poor choice in conversational topics. "Why do you want to know so badly?" A part of him would always wonder, but it wasn't worth it.

"If I spent as much time as was necessary trying to learn that truth I wouldn't accomplish anything else. I still have a brother, parents, and a family business to keep going. Not to mention a wolf I need to make certain doesn't destroy anymore tea houses." There was a smirk for Genny and a nod of his head towards the troublemaker sitting between them. "There are better uses of your time as well."

Does it really matter?What would it change?…And does that mean you really want to know?They were simple questions that any sane person would ask. And surely, she had asked them, quietly, to herself long ago and again since, more than a few times. Considering the amount of time that had passed from the day of Rhaena’s death to this moment, mere inquiry had devolved into something closer to obsession. The rational questions seemed beyond mattering; still, she listened and she tried to hear his words afresh.

But at his mention of letting sleeping dogs lie, her eyes flicked to Kacela, the half formed tears cleared, and the pull of some struggling smile at the corner of her mouth rose into a grin. “You sound rather like Glenn.” It was more poking fun than to say they were anything alike; not that she could much tell - any more they were both strangers. It was a sentiment the former Governor had held before and it made some sense now. As circumstances stood, no one, singular individual had blood on their hands, the town had more-or-less recovered from the madness of the Red and Gold Summer. Rest was much needed. Leaving the past alone offered a chance to move forward, to live some semblance of a normal life. But at its core the suggestion postulated that through this oversight, in ignorance, peace could be attained, even sustained, and was therefore more important than truth.

Of all the lessons she had learned, from Glenn’s rule, Rhaena’s tutelage, from the sheer struggle to survive in Myrken, the most important by far was that the truth mattered and peace was fleeting. It could very well change nothing. And as to whether or not she truly wanted to know, that was the only question that festered with uncertainty, in part because of the question that followed.

Why do you want to know so badly?”Her eyes drifted away again, towards the fireplace in silent contemplation. After a few quiet moments, her red hair curling a bit as it started to dry, she offered a soft, half-hearted reply, “guilt?”

As an answer it was obvious. Simple. She was not a soldier accustomed to violent death, nor an executioner numb to the sight of such things. As far as she was concerned, she hadn't the right to say who deserved to live or die and certainly had never killed someone intentionally or, as far as she was aware, otherwise.

But even as she spoke the word it seemed limp. Wrong. Trying again, though her eyes seemed locked, reading the flames, she ventured more confidently, “Fear."

She nodded resolutely, as if finding this answer better articulated or somehow more truthful and returned to facing her hosts. "I feel pieces of her, her memory, her face is… as clear and solid in my mind as you, sitting before me now.”

Rhaena had been a good teacher, even though her and her student's capabilities differed. She had been effective with lessons in controlling surges of emotion, focusing on words to create cohesive thoughts, and not overwhelm those with whom she communicated. But the lessons were incomplete, as evidenced by all that had transpired in their conversation so far. And though the town may not have appreciated him, the mere fact that he could recognize this in her, made him invaluable.

With good intentions but a lack of training it was fathomable that her own ambition could one day lead her down a similar path. And more importantly, if there was any lingering vestige of Rhaena still within her, did it pose a threat? Her head held a labyrinth of memories and thoughts she’d seemed to have absorbed from the minds that she had touched. Genny had done well to tuck such pieces into the hedges and dead-ends, suppressing or imprisoning what her mind knew to be foreign. And though it had only ever been memories and past moments, deep down there was the fear that something survived. And if anyone knew how to place pieces of a mind into another vessel it had been Rhaena.

“Oh, believe me, I do have better things to do. The renovations of the meeting house, to build the school, to see Daryl grow… to find love.” It was an abrupt and honest admission, it broke in her voice and burned in her cheeks. Welling hot tears rose again though she blinked them away, trying to maintain some calm, collected demeanor that she’d lost well before their encounter in the forest.

“I want to forget. To live.” She took a deep breath, looking Kals squarely in the eyes; asking for his help in the statements. “But I need to know how I am best killed… if ever I become as she was, in the end.”

Maybe he thought her mad. Or that madness was a forgone conclusion and he was only banking on her losing interest and leaving as soon as the storm stopped. But she persisted and now she waited, exposed and with all of the metaphorical cards on the table.